


Discipline in the Face of Rash Actions

by aneurysmface



Category: Marvel Avengers Movies Universe
Genre: F/M, M/M, Power Play, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-07-12
Updated: 2012-07-12
Packaged: 2017-11-09 19:44:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,454
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/457681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aneurysmface/pseuds/aneurysmface
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint acts without thinking on a mission. Phil makes sure that Clint follows the doctor's ordered rest. And there's sex.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Part One

The op went pear-shaped about two minutes after target contact. It was supposed to be a fairly simple meet. The guy they were after was suspected of selling a home-brew version of the mixture that made The Hulk. Bruce was along to make sure it was legit stuff and not just a fancy copy. Clint was there to make sure that a)Bruce didn't Hulk out and b) that if this stuff was the real deal that the seller was taken into custody and the serum was confiscated by SHIELD. Coulson was acting as handler for this since it was technically an Avengers op even though it was mostly reconnaissance. He was sitting in the command center of a Quinjet circling the area.

“Target spotted. Two klicks east of you and moving in. ETA three minutes.” Coulson's voice sounded clear and assured in Clint's ear.

“Copy that, Nanny. Casually and calmly awaiting arrival.” Clint couldn't keep the snark out of his voice. “Nanny” wasn't Coulson's official codename, but it was the one the Avengers all used. And even then only because Coulson humoured them. The last Agent to call him “Nanny” to his face was currently drilling ice cores in Antarctica.

“Maintain radio silence from here on out unless you hit a snag, Hawkeye.”  
  
“Yes, sir, Nanny, sir.” Clint leaned against the car they'd shown up in. He turned to Bruce. “Hey, Bruce-man. Keep it chill, alright? We don't want to tip him off.”  
  
Bruce smirked at him and stuffed his hands in the pockets of his suit pants. They'd had to dress up to look like respectable businessmen. “You know me, cool as a cucumber.”  
  
“Mmmhmmm.” Clint assessed Bruce carefully. He'd insisted he'd be fine for the job, but SHIELD's lab rats had been uncertain how the Hulk would react to the serum if it was real.  
  
“At your doorstep.” Coulson's voice chirped in Clint's ear. He knew that was the last he'd hear fro their handler until this was over. Clint looked out at the horizon and spotted a single SUV moving towards them.  
  
“Showtime, buddy.” Clint said to Bruce as the vehicle pulled to a stop in front of their own, boxing it in. That immediately set Clint on edge. It'd be harder to make a quick exit if they had to while that SUV was there. A well-dressed man stepped out of the backseat. The driver stayed in the car and kept the engine running. One more thing to make Clint nervous. The man approached.  
  
“Misters Barclay and Barclay, I assume.” He addressed Clint and extended his hand.  
  
Clint shook it out of necessity. He'd rather not touch a sleazeball like this guy, but appearances mattered and Barclay was supposed to be the same kind of sleazeball. “That's us, so you must be Richter.”  
  
“Right.” He let Clint's hand go. “You know, I expected somebody more... I don't know, somebody older.”  
  
“Looks can be deceiving, Mr. Richter. Now, I believe we have business to get down to.” Clint gave Richter his sternest expression. He really didn't like the way this op felt and he wanted it done.  
  
“Right, right. You are one to get right to the point, aren't you.” Richter waved a hand at the car.  
  
Clint, to his credit, saw the shot coming. He pushed Bruce out of the way and felt the bullet slam into his side as he didn't quite get out of the way himself.  
  
He pulled out the Sig Sauer he'd put in his waistband and returned fire. He tapped his ear piece and got nothing but static. Shit. If the Quinjet was down—if Phil was down—Clint was never going to forgive himself. He should have called an audible and taken the guy in the second the car pulled up. Two more SUVs pulled in next to the first, three guys spilling out of each and lining up shots.  
  
“Bruce, bud, god I hate to ask, but I've only got so much ammo and I'm not getting anything from Coulson but static.” Under any other circumstance he wouldn't have even considered it, but without having anybody telling him what else might be coming and Clint leaking blood and ammo into guys that just weren't going down, the situation was a bit desperate.  
Bruce, for his part, just nodded and started moving toward the line of shooters. Four steps in and he was already fully Hulked out. Clint stopped shooting when he heard Hulk's roar. Bullets wouldn't do much any more. He shifted to lean himself against the wheel of their car.  
  
It didn't take long before all that was left was a heap of twisted metal that had once been three cars and was now just one form and a pile of just-as-mangled bodies. Hulk roared at the wreckage before he turned back to Clint. It was strange, the friendship Hulk felt towards Hawkeye—the only other person who got any sort of affection out of him was Tony and he at least had something in common with Bruce.  
  
“Cupid hurt. Because of Hulk.”  
  
Clint shook his head. “No, Cupid's hurt because he didn't react quick enough.” He pressed a hand against his side. The wound was a through-and-through, not a graze, and fuck did it hurt. Clint let his head fall back against the car and closed his eyes. He opened them again seconds later when he heard the familiar whirr of the Quinjet's engines over the sound of Hulk's heavy breathing. He sighed in relief. Phil was OK.

 

By the time the jet landed, Hulk had taken a seated position across from Clint, eye watching him carefully. He growled when the first agents neared them. They backed off and Coulson stepped forward with his hands up.  
  
“We just want to take Cupid here to get patched up.” Hulk wasn't quite on the same friendly terms with Coulson as with Clint and Tony, but Clint trusted Coulson which was usually enough to get Hulk to behave.  
  
Hulk grunted and nodded his head. “Make Cupid better.” He didn't react this time when the medics moved in. They poked at Clint briefly before noticing that his attention was starting to drift already. He was bleeding worse than they'd feared. The call for a stretcher went out. Phil itched to go with Clint, but he didn't trust any of the others to be able to control the Hulk. He barely trusted himself.  
  
“Nanny go with Cupid. Hulk stay here.” Phil looked up. Hulk rarely addressed him without prompting. Phil shook his head.  
  
“Cupid's a big boy and I'll only get in the way.”  
  
Hulk growled. “Nanny go with Cupid.”  
  
“I can't. I--” Phil was cut off when Hulk's fist hit the ground and made everything shake.  
  
“Nanny--”  
  
“Go with Cupid. Got it.” Phil nodded and grabbed the nearest agent on his way by. “I'm going with Hawkeye in order to keep the Hulk happy. I want those cars taken apart and searched for any signs of a serum. Understood?”  
  
“Yes, sir.” The agent nodded crisply at Phil.  
  
He got to the Quinjet just as they started lifting the back door. He hopped in quickly and strode over to where Clint's stretcher was being strapped in. Clint looked up at him, eyes unfocused from blood loss and morphine.  
  
“You should be with th'Hulk, sir.”  
  
“He thought I should be here instead. And you can't really say 'no' to him.”  
  
Clint smiled loosely at that. “No, sir, I guess you can't.” His eyes blinked shut slowly. “'M gonna pass out now, sir.”  
  
Phil ran a hand through Clint's hair. If anybody caught the motion, they didn't react to it. Phil turned to the nearest doctor. “What's his status?”  
  
“Stable for now. He's lost a fair amount of blood and the shot was a through-and-through. He doesn't appear to have injured any organs, the mobile scanner showed no internal damage other than the bullet tract. He was extremely lucky. We'll get him patched and sedated back on the carrier.”  
  
Phil nodded and took one last look at Clint before turning to the cockpit. “ETA?” He asked the pilot.  
  
“Four minutes, sir. You'll be able to see the carrier in two.”  
  
He stared out the windshield. Clint had definitely been lucky. A few more inches toward the center mass and he'd be leaking intestinal bacteria and that could be deadly even with treatment.  
  
The Quinjet landed with a slight bump, barely noticeable, but it was enough to pull Clint out of his doze. Phil walked with the stretcher as they wheeled it toward the med bay. Phil split off just before entering the O.R. and took the stairs up to the observation room instead. Once there, he pulled out his phone and watched as the nurses cut Clint's shirt off. Phil flinched at the amount of blood caught in the fabric. He made a call to the ops center on the carrier.  
  
“Connect me to the ground crews in Connecticut.” He waited patiently as they patched him through, watched as doctors mopped the blood away from the hole in Clint's side and started working on closing it up.  
  
“Sir.” A voice spoke through the phone connection.  
  
“Report.” He was terse, taking in the pallor of Clint's skin instead of his usual flushed tan.  
  
“Doctor Banner turned back into himself and was sedated. He's en route back to the carrier now.”  
  
“Good. Anything else? Did you find anything?”  
  
“Well, based on the guys Hulk beat up, Intel thinks this was HYDRA all along, a trap set up for Banner.”  
  
Phil sighed. “Right. Let me know if anything else turns up.”  
  
“Yes, sir.” Phil hung up after getting the affirmative. He looked down; They were starting to close the holes using some nanobot foam Stark and Banner had cooked up in a fit of boredom. Phil swore that if you locked them up in a lab long enough that they would cure cancer.  
  
The docs wrapped Clint up tight, at least two rolls of gauze around his torso to keep pressure on the wound. With the foam, Clint would be patched in a couple hours, but it had still been close enough to make Phil nervous. And there was always the chance the foam would fail. He turned and walked down the stairs, meeting the nurses wheeling Clint at the door and followed them to Clint's room.  
  
It actually was Clint's room—all of the Avengers (with the exception of Steve and Thor) had private, preassigned rooms in the med bay. Phil sometimes worried about what that meant in terms of his team's regard for personal safety. Clint was still out of it as they moved him to the bed. Phil turned to the head nurse. She spoke without prompting.  
  
“We're sedating him for three hours to make sure that the patch holds. After that, no heavy lifting for two days and no bow practice or sparring for a week.”  
  
Clint wasn't going to like that, but the last thing they needed was for him to break the patch trying to draw back his bow. Phil nodded and moved into his customary seat next to Clint's bed. He pulled the Starkpad out of the bedside table and logged into his computer remotely. He wasn't going to leave Clint, but he could at least get started on the mission reports.

 

Clint groaned as the sedatives started to wear off. He struggled to open his eyes, had to work to focus on Phil at his bedside.  
  
“Hey.” His voice was raspy and Phil held a cup of water out to him. He slipped the straw into his mouth and took a few gulps. “Thanks.” Better, but not by much.  
  
“That was a little too close for comfort, Clint.”  
  
“Sorry. But Bruce--”  
  
“Bruce would have hulked out and been fine. You, on the other hand, are extremely lucky.”  
  
Clint knew a losing battle when he saw one so he kept quiet. His eyes slipped shut, but opened again a minute later.  
  
“Are you OK? Lost your signal for a while.” Clint asked.  
  
“EMP took out the jet. We were running on on some emergency non-electric back-up power that Stark cooked up for occasions just like that...” Phil trailed off, “I was worried about you. The last I heard over comms was that asshole trying to be funny.”  
  
Clint didn't say anything. Instead, he moved his arm—which took way more concentration that it should have, wow, he was on really good drugs—and reached for Phil. He smiled when Phil's hand closed around his.  
  
“I'm OK now. You've got me.”

 

It took three days for Clint to go stir crazy enough to break into Phil's office and try to steal his bows back. Phil had confiscated all the ones on base and hidden them somewhere. Hell, he'd even gotten Nat to scare Tony so bad that the guy wouldn't build him a new one. Clint was halfway through picking the lock on Phil's gun cabinet when a hand fell on his shoulder.. He jumped and spun around, ready to defend himself, when he realized who it was.  
  
“Jesus, Phil, don't do that. One of these days I'm gonna hurt you.”  
  
“You wouldn't ever hurt me unless I asked you to. And even then I have my doubts. But that aside, can I help you find something?” Phil had an expectant look on his face.  
  
Clint's brain had to work double-time to get around the image of Phil asking to be hurt—spanked, whipped, cut—wait, Phil had asked a question.  
  
“Aw, c'mon, Phil. You know what I'm after. Where'd you hide them?” Clint put on his best puppy face (which was excellent. It had worked on Hill once... and only once).  
  
“You heard the doc, no bows for a week.” Phil sat down at his desk and flipped on his computer.  
  
“But I'm healed! Look!” Clint walked into Phil's line of sight and lifted his shirt. All that was left of his time in medical was a shiny white-pink circle at his waist.  
  
“You're patched, not healed. You know the two aren't the same.”  
  
Clint sighed and moved so he was sitting on Phil's desk, preventing him from working. “C'mooooon. I'm going insane. I'll do anything.”  
  
Phil's eyebrows rose at that idea. “Anything?”  
  
Clint leaned in close, his lips nearly touching Phil's. “Anything.”  
  
“Strip.” The command was out of Phil's mouth in a heartbeat. Clint smirked and slid off the desk so that he was standing between Phil's legs.  
  
“Yes, sir.” Clint reached up and started undoing the clasps on his gear.  
  
“Slowly. Give me a show.” Phil's voice halted Clint's movements.  
  
“Yes, sir.” He rocked his hips to a beat only he could hear and undid the buckles one-by-one, unhurried. He drew the shirt over his head, but not his arms, left it wrapped around his back and caught at his elbows as he ran his hands down his body and over his crotch. He got rid of the shirt completely as he crouched to undo his boots. His face was right in front of Phil's crotch at this height and he could clearly see how his pants were tented. Clint leaned in and nuzzled his nose against the line of Phil's erection, drawing a groan from him.  
  
Phil's hand wound into Clint's hair and yanked so Clint was looking up at him. “That's your reward. No touching until I say so.”  
  
It was Clint's turn to groan, at the order, at the hand in his hair. “Yes, sir.” He united his laces briskly, placing his boots and socks off to the side. When he stood, his body slid up along Phil's, but carefully kept from touching. He'd have liked a bit more room to do this, but he could work with it. Clint undid his pants one button at a time until they were hanging low on his hips. He turned to face Phil's desk as he eased them off with a wiggle and kicked them away; Clint had skipped underwear that morning, had been in a rush after oversleeping, now he was grateful he'd left them off. He braced his hands on the desk.  
  
He heard the wheels of Phil's char move and then felt Phil's hand on his hip, the bulge of his erection pressing against Clint. He groaned and tried to rock his hips back, but was rewarded with a swift slap across his ass instead.  
  
“Mmmmm...” He hummed. “Please, sir, may I have some more?” He was being insolent and he knew it.  
  
“Since you asked so politely.” Phil answered, raising the hand on Clint's hip to push at his shoulder until he was bent over the desk, braced on his forearms. Phil squeezed his hip gently and that was all the warning Clint got before Phil's other hand came down on the opposite cheek from the first strike. “Count.” Phil said, his hand coming down once more.  
  
“Three... four... five... s-six...” Clint counted through a harsh gasp, his hips jerking roughly, seeking any contact possible, desperate for the friction. “S-seven... eight... nine...” He cried out softly, waiting for the tenth strike, but it didn't come. Instead, he heard Phil open the drawer of his desk, followed by the soft snick of the cap to the bottle of lube he kept stashed there.  
  
Clint whimpered as the first of Phil's fingers circled his hole, teasing. “Please, Phil. God, please.” He tried shifting his his back again, but Phil's other hand held him where he was. He choked out a sob when Phil finally pressed his finger inside, quickly followed by a second and Clint's hips bucked hard when Phil crooked them just right.  
  
“Phil, please, I need--” The hand holding his hips lifted and came back down on an already raw cheek with an echoing slap.  
  
“You will not come until I say so.” Phil pressed a third finger in and twisted. “Understood?”  
  
Clint's head hit the desk with a thud. “Yes, sir.” He mumbled into the wood.  
  
“What was that?” Phil's fingers pressed against Clint's prostate again.  
  
“I said, 'yes, sir'.” Clint said, raising his head and looking back over his shoulder. What he saw was Phil, still mostly dressed in the perfectly tailored Fioravanti that Clint had helped him pick out at his last appointment. The suit was black with pinstriping in a purple that was almost just as dark; it was a detail very few people would notice and Clint reveled in it because that was his favourite colour on Phil's suit.  
  
Phil had his sleeves rolled up and no doubt his dry cleaner would give him hell for the wrinkles—not to mention the stains if they weren't careful. Clint groaned. He was falling apart and Phil still looked like he could walk into a meeting with the goddamn President.  
  
“Good boy.” Phil said, pulling his fingers out. Clint dropped his head again, already missing them. His ears perked up at the sound of Phil's belt and zipper as he undid them and pushed them out of the way. He heard the tear of foil that meant Phil had thought to use a condom. As much as Clint loved it when Phil rode him bare, he didn't relish the idea of being sticky for the rest of the day. He shivered at Phil's groan as he rolled the condom on, at the sound of the slick slide of his hand.  
  
“Please, Phil. C'mon, I'm ready, just--” Clint cut himself off when he felt the head of Phil's cock slide into him. “Fucking hell, Jesus, yes.” Clint pushed back with his hips and was rewarded with one more slap to his ass.  
  
“Stay.” Phil said, not moving. Clint whimpered.  
  
“Yes, sir.” He reached out and wrapped his fingers around the edge of Phil's desk, willed himself to stay completely still. Then Phil started to push in again and his legs started to shake. Phil's orders were going to be the death of him. All he wanted was to fuck himself on Phil's cock and god, he was close, could feel where his cock has been leaking on a mission report. Clint grit his teeth when he felt Phil's balls press flush against his ass. Then Phil pulled out halfway and slammed back in and Clint lost himself for a few seconds.  
  
“Please, god, yes, Phil, Phil, Phil...” Clint's vocabulary was reduced to monosyllables and begging. His cock twitched against his belly every time Phil slid into him. “Phil, please. Let me... fuck, Phil, I need--” He couldn't even finish his sentences, mind clouded with lust and the sheer overwhelming need to come.  
  
Phil's hand moved from gripping Clint's hip to hovering teasingly against his stomach, barely an inch from touching Clint's cock. “I don't know if you deserve to come. After all, you were trying to break into my gun safe.” Phil moved his hand away and Clint whined low in his throat, trying to figure out how Phil could still sound so put together.  
  
“Please, Phil. I'll stay off the range for an extra week. God, I'll--” Clint stopped to bite his lip hard enough to taste blood as Phil hit his prostate twice in quick succession. “Fuck, I'll even only go with supervision. Please, just...” Another whimper and Clint couldn't even manage to keep his eyes open, squeezed them tightly shut instead.  
  
Phil reached under Clint's chest and pulled him up so his back pressed against Phil's chest. Clint could feel the cool metal of Phil's tie clip against his heated skin. Phil pressed his lips to Clint's neck in a gentle kiss that was a sharp contrast to the torture he was putting Clint through.  
  
“Now.” He growled into Clint's ear and bit down hard on the juncture of Clint's neck and shoulder.  
  
Clint's head fell back and he struggled to breathe as that one word did him in. He came in thick ropes across the papers on Phil's desk, on hand moving back to grasp at Phil's hair and keep him close, the other resting on the desk as he tried to keep himself upright through the aftershocks.  
  
“Phil...” Clint gasped as he started to drift back into awareness. “C'mon, Phil.” He could tell Phil was close, could hear his ragged breathing and feel the uneven rhythm of his thrusts.  
  
“You want your reward for good behaviour now?” Phil's voice was wrecked and Clint shuddered.  
  
“Yes, please, Phil.” He whimpered when Phil pulled out, not expecting it.  
  
“Kneel.” Phil said and everything clicked for Clint. He turned and sank to his knees as smoothly as he could while shaking as badly as he was. Phil pulled the condom off and tossed it into the trash before he slid his cock into Clint's waiting mouth.  
  
He tasted like latex, but Clint ignored that in favour of hollowing out his cheeks and sucking hard on the head of Phil's cock before taking him in as far as he could, his nose just barely pressed into the curls at the base. Clint pulled off a tad and rubbed his tongue against the underside of Phil's cock and hummed. His humming turned into a groan though when Phil's hand slid into his hair and tugged.  
  
“Clint--” and that was the only warning Clint got before Phil was coming onto his tongue. He swallowed it all, cleaning Phil off with his tongue before slumping back against the desk. Phil collapsed into his chair, breathing ragged. Neither spoke for a full minute before Clint looked up.  
  
“So, where did you hide all twenty-two of my bows anyway?”  
  
“Hmmm?” Phil cracked an eye and looked down at Clint. “Oh, right. They're in Maria's office.”  
  
“You are one sneaky bastard, Phil Coulson.” Clint pushed himself into a standing position and stretched. He wouldn't have looked in Maria's office for another month, at least. And even now that he knew where they were, he wouldn't be going to get them. Clint was, in all honesty, terrified of Maria Hill. She could put Fury to shame if she was so inclined.  
  
“'s why you love me.” Phil said, shifting his hips so he could pull his pants back up.  
  
“Among other reasons, yes.” Clint walked to where his clothes had ended up and redressed. The shirt was rumpled, but not bad enough to warrant changing. He slid his boots on, leaving the laces undone for now.  
  
Phil had turned his char to watch Clint and after everything was back on, Clint returned to the desk and bent over Phil so he could press a soft kiss to his lips.  
  
“See you at home later?” He asked.  
  
“Yeah. Might be a bit late since now I have to hunt down a handful of junior agents and tell them their reports were mysteriously lost.”  
  
Clint smirked. “Love you, too.” He kissed Phil one more time before sauntering out the door, a smile plastered across his face.  
  
And if two hours later, new copies of all the “missing” reports were all presented to Phil without him ever even saying a word about it, well, Clint wasn't exactly above making threats. He really just wanted his husband home on time tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written as a follower thank you gift giveaway on tumblr. The prompt I was given by the winner was "Phil/Clint with maybe some background Darcy/Bruce if you have room? Perhaps some desk sex and power play if you’re comfortable with it?" I did my best to fill that.
> 
> Thank you for making it this far! Let me know what you think and read chapter two. It's not much, but it's mush.


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bruce wakes up and Darcy is there. It's mushy. And short.

Bruce blinked his eyes open slowly, taking in the familiar sounds of the SHIELD medbay. He always ended up here after hulking out, needed the rest and the calm. They'd built a special room for him to re-center himself in, far from the bustle of the main entrance and on the opposite side from the O.R. so he wouldn't stress over the welfare of whoever was in there.  
  
“Hey, you're awake!” Bruce turned his head gently, stiff as usual thanks to the shift. He smiled.  
  
“Hey yourself, Darcy.”  
  
“How are you feeling?” She stood from where she'd been sitting next to his bed and ran a hand through his hair. Bruce's eyes fluttered shut and he hummed contentedly.  
  
“Much better.” He slid over on the bed and didn't have to say anything before she climbed in next to him. Darcy curled around him, her head on his chest, and he pressed a kiss into her hair.  
  
“'m glad.” She mumbled into his shirt. Bruce knew she didn't really sleep while he was recovering.  
  
“Get some rest.” He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and smiled. Having Darcy there to wake up to made it easier to come back to normal, to push the last tendrils of the Hulk's control out of his thoughts, putting Him back to the usual dull anger.  
  
“Love you.” Darcy managed to say through a yawn.  
  
“Love you, too.” He was still smiling as he tightened his arm and closed his own eyes before falling back asleep.


End file.
